How did we get here?
by Syrinth
Summary: Post-RENT, Mark/Roger have been together for three years but when something horrible happens, it leaves Roger with only five words: How did we get here?


**How did we get here?**

* * *

_ How did we get here?_ The words rose unbidden in his mind as he slumped into a chair. _How the Hell?_ He added, bitterly.

Maureen and Joanne sat beside him, holding him, trying to soothe him with calming words as the tears flowed freely from his eyes. Three years, ago Mark had held him just like this, had held him while he broke, Mimi's death dragging away another piece of him.

Mark had held him and put him back together again, like he always did, never asking for anything in return but always wanting the one thing he felt like he could never have.

"It'll be ok, Rog. Shh, it'll be ok." Mark had whispered to him one night, when memories of Mimi and April had welled up too strongly within him. Mark had come home late one night to find him slumped on the worn-out couch, head in his hands and lost in misery.

Mark had run to his side wrapping his arms around him, and whispering in his ear, trying to calm him, trying to let him know he wasn't alone.

Roger turned, cheeks still wet, and looked into Mark's concerned face. He knew he was desperate, and he was tired but God he needed someone right now; he needed this right now. No, more than that, he needed _Mark_ right now. He reached up with trembling hands and gently took Mark's face, pulling the filmmaker's lips down to his own, giving him no time to react nor break away.

That night, everything changed. A simple kiss opened the gates to a flood of new feelings and emotions as Roger realized what he had been ignoring for years. It still made him wonder how he could have missed it, how he had never even realized how deeply he cared for his roommate. Mark, he knew, would always be there for him, had always been there for him. He had stood beside Roger, holding him and being strong for him during his withdrawal and as he coped with the reality of HIV. Mark had always taken care of him and, even if neither of them had known it, had always loved him.

As time passed, Roger soon found the growing feelings awakened within him had become too much to conceal. He loved Mark in ways that he never imagined were possible. Mark made him feel complete, and the following two years had been the best of his life as he gave in to love as he had never been able to with Mimi.

* * *

Lying in bed one night, visible only by the moonlight reflected off his naked skin, Mark had curled against him and enfolded Roger in his arms.

"Roger…" His voice broke slightly with nervousness.

Muzzy with sleep, Roger could barely reply with more than a questioning grunt.

"Hey, wake up!" Mark rapped Roger gently on his chest. "I was just thinking about April… and Mimi. Do you still think about them?" Roger got the feeling that Mark's words, though innocent sounding, held a question he didn't dare ask. "Every once in a while yes, like I think about Angel. Though, if you're asking if I ever sit alone in the dead of night wishing that I was with one of them instead of you, then no. I miss them. I miss them a lot, but… I'd never trade away what we have Mark. This is the first relationship I've had that's actually healthy." He looked at the filmmaker, and could tell that he was still worried, even though he tried to hide it. Roger wracked his brain as he thought of something irresistibly romantic to say.

"I'd never trade it away because you're sweet, caring, charming, an amazing cook when we actually have food, and you've always been there for me." He smiled, stroking the younger man's hair. "Mark there's no one in the world, and there never has been, that I'd rather have than you." He added, giving Mark's rump an appreciative squeeze. "You've also got a hot ass, which is a great bonus."

The filmmaker squirmed and giggled sleepily. "Really?" He asked, his voice drifting off as he spoke. "I'm not good…enough, you know…" He mumbled as he drifted off.

Roger lay there, stroking Mark's hair for a few minutes as he thought angrily to himself, _Not good enough? Why would you even think that? _He wrapped his arms around Mark, holding the smaller man tight against his body, and closed his eyes. _If you only knew how wrong you are; I'm not good enough for you._

_

* * *

_They had spent so much time together, laughing and playing, romancing and enjoying life, but he realized now, it hadn't been enough. Sitting here now, in this cold and sterile hospital with the two women on either side of him, he could see so many hours wasted because Mark hadn't been in his arms. His stomach dropped whenever he recalled the few fights they'd had, and the years of just friendship that had lain between them like an impassable barrier.

It seemed so surreal, so impossible that he'd most likely never hold Mark at night again, never kiss him in the park, sing to him, or hear the soft whirring of his camera. The most horrifying realization was that it was all a twist of fate, no rhyme, no reason, just a horrifying bump in their lives that would change them forever.

They'd agreed to meet at the Life Café for dinner because Mark had to go to Buzzline for work and Roger needed to resume his hunt for a job. More precious time between them wasted apart. He had been walking down the empty street when he heard a soft, gasping sound coming from the alley ahead of him. His heart clawed its way into his throat as he peered in. Mark lay on his side, blood seeping from wounds to his head and his chest. His camera lay on the ground beside him, damaged when it fell from its owner's hands.

Roger ran forward, cradling the smaller body. His hands examined Mark, probing over the sickly damp clothes for a cut or gash. He gasped and drew his hand back as it felt slick, torn flesh and a deep wound. Working quickly, he wrapped his scarf around his hand, and pressed it tightly against the bleeding hole.

Mark winced in pain at the musician's probing, drawing in a ragged breath. "R-R-Roger?" He managed, blue eyes flickering slowly open. "'m c…ld." His eyes started drifting closed again as he shivered against his lover's body.

"No Mark, you can't sleep now, not yet. I can't lose you too I can't!" His voice was quickly rising, filled with grief. "Don't you dare die before me."

Mark coughed feebly, holding onto Roger with what little strength remained in his frail body. With a sinking heart, Roger remembered a similar moment. Rising in his mind was another time when someone weak and dying had clung desperately to him.

"Help! S-Someone help!" Roger screamed, rocking back and forth, Mark clutched tight against his chest.

He heard running feet and then a voice shouting. "Oh my God! Call 911! Now!"

A woman ran into the alley, and crouched down in front of him. She reached out a hand to Mark, but drew it back quickly as Roger snarled at her, his urge to protect overwhelming his senses.

"Don't touch him!" His eyes narrowed hatefully at her as he threw his shoulder between the two of them.

"It's ok, I just want to help. I'm Lorraine, what happened?"

"I-I don't know… we were going to meet at-at the Life. I wa-was walking down the street and I heard him. I think he's been st-stabbed."

"Oh my God." She slowly reached out for Roger's shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. "Just be strong, the ambulance'll be here soon. Just be strong, alright?"

The minutes stretched by as they waited for the ambulance, Roger could only watch helplessly as his lover's ragged breathing got steadily weaker.

"What the hell is taking them so long!" Roger shouted, startling Lorraine.

"They'll be here; my friend is waiting down the street to make sure they find us." She

turned her gaze to Mark. "Is-is he your boyfriend?"

"Yes" Roger snarled before softening his voice. "Two years."

His body tensed as his ears caught the sound of sirens in the air. Mark looked up at him, a weak smile playing across his pale lips. "S…ry I wasn't… str…ng enough to fight him off." He pressed a weak kiss to Roger's hand, which had been stroking his face. "'T least I g…t to die in y…r arms… Not so bad, it's c…mfy." He giggled light-headedly to himself, coughing up some blood before slipping again into near-unconsciousness.

"You'll be fine. I'm the one who's got to die first Mark. This is nothing, you can't die. I need you too much. You'll be fine, you'll be fine. You'll see Mark. You'll-you'll be fine." He choked down a sob as the ambulance arrived, and pried him away from Mark's near-unconscious form. Lorraine pulled him to her, holding onto him in case he tried to attack the paramedics.

"This isn't good, this wound is deep." One of them said "We need to get him to the hospital fast. Get the gurney and bring the life support! This is going to be close."

Roger tore away from Lorraine's grasp as Mark was spirited into the ambulance, his thin body appearing lost on the massive gurney.

"I'm his boyfriend, let me in!" Roger tore at the paramedic, trying to claw his way into the vehicle.

"Let him in Toby!" Shouted the driver "We need to move fast!"

Roger grabbed the camera before he clambered into the ambulance, kneeling beside Mark and clasping his hand in his, pressing fevered kisses against the cold skin. Roger's eyes stayed locked on Mark for the whole drive, never once leaving his still form, willing him to move, to show some sign of life.

The world became a blur of motion and grief as Mark was pulled from the ambulance and brought to surgery.

"Sir! Sir! You can't go in there!" A nearby nurse shouted, as Roger tried to force his way into the surgery room after Mark.

"He needs me, I can't leave him!" Roger nearly wailed.

"If you go in there." She began, her voice taking on a sharp edge. "You'll be contaminating the room and putting him in even more danger, now sit your ass down outside while the doctors try to sort this out."

The next thing Roger knew he was in the waiting room, pacing insanely back and forth, and cursing under his breath.

"Roger! Roger!" Maureen was shouting, as she and Joanne ran down the hall towards him, waving frantically. Maureen crashed into him, wrapping her arms desperately around him. "What's wrong? What happened? You said something's wrong with Mark!"

_Did I call them?_ Roger couldn't remember talking to Maureen but they were here. _Maybe I called them after they threw me out here_... The two women were holding him now, supporting him as he let himself go, let himself be supported by his two friends as he collapsed against them. Gently, they let him slump into a chair, taking a seat on either side of him and holding him close.

* * *

Together, the two of them worked hard at dragging the details of just what in the Hell happened out from Roger's horrified lips. Maureen clapped her hands to her mouth, and reached for Joanne's hand when Roger told them about what happened, how he had found Mark lying alone, cold and bleeding. How he had been stabbed, most likely for what little money he had on him.

Hours passed and the three of them sat in silence, the tension rising as they waited for a nurse or doctor to come collect them, to give them the good news that everything would be alright.

Finally, after an eternity of agonized waiting a young nurse walked up to them.

"Roger Davis? For Mark Cohen?"

"Th-that's me. Is he-? Is everything-?" Roger stumbled over his words, his voice becoming tight with anxiety. He felt the two women squeeze his hands, as much for his comfort as their own.

"He's…" The nurse's face fell as she tried to find the right words to use. "Currently he's alive but he's still in critical condition. The doctors have done everything that they could, but the wound was deep and penetrated his lung, causing severe internal bleeding. I'm sorry, but it's entirely possible that he won't survive the next few days. You can go and see him now but he's still unconscious. If you have anything to say to him I suggest you don't delay." She turned away and, as far as Roger was concerned, walked out of the world.

Maureen reached out and pulled Roger against her while the words washed over them. "Come on Roger, we should-we should go and…"

He rose shakily, leaving the women to follow him as he hurried, trance-like, to Mark's room. He pushed open the door, entering the sterile white room, and he felt his heart shrivel up and die. Mark lay on the bed, bandages wrapped around his head and chest, pale as death, and connected to a respirator. Stumbling forward the last few steps, Roger fell into a chair by the man's side, and held the unresponsive hand in his. He stared hopefully at Mark's face, praying for some sign of life… aside from the faint pulse of the heart monitor.

He raised his head as the door clicked behind him and Maureen entered, Joanne just behind her. A gasp of shock came from the diva as she saw how pale and fragile looking Mark had become. She leaned against Joanne for comfort, the two women holding each other and crying softly.

"Mark?" Roger placed a soft kiss on the blonde's hand. "Mark, baby, can you hear me? Please wake up." He reached out carefully and stroked the soft blond hair.

"Roger, I don't think he can hear you." Maureen offered cautiously.

The guitarist ignored her, talking to Mark as though at any second he was going to wake up and be miraculously cured, like Mimi was. He was praying that Angel would lead his man home just like she did the dancer.

Maureen hesitated before walking to Mark's other side. With Joanne close behind her, she took his free hand, and began crying in great heaving sobs. She slowly began talking to Mark, whispering apologies to the man, saying everything that needed to be said, in case this was the last time she ever saw him; in case he never woke up.

Thirty minutes of pleas, apologies and tears later, Maureen and Joanne, loathe to leave the room in case either of the men needed them, had curled up in each other's arms; they fell into a restless sleep as exhaustion overcame them, their silence leaving Roger alone with his love, and his pleas.

"Mark, come on wake up please. I-I brought your camera. Please wake up, please?" He leaned forwards and kissed the blonde's pale forehead before he fell into darkness, exhausted and emotionally drained.

Sleep didn't come easy for Roger, and it didn't last long either. Seemingly seconds had passed before he was awoken by the most horrifying sound his ears had ever heard; the screech of the monitor yelling that Mark's heart had stopped. Before any of them could react, they was surrounded by doctors and nurses, and forced from the room, cursing once more in the corridor before they were escorted back to the waiting room.

Roger could see the women speaking to him as they pulled him into a seat, but he couldn't make any sense of what they were saying. It was as though his head were surrounded by fog and there was only one voice that could get through. He just clung, numbly onto Mark's camera, holding it for comfort and the security it brought.

An indeterminable amount of time passed before a nurse walked up to them, her face grave.

"I'm sorry Mr. Davies, but Mr. Cohen… didn't make it." The words cut through the fog surrounding him, slicing into his soul. His hands went slack, dropping the camera onto the floor where it broke apart, a single spool of film unwinding across the ground. Playing, in still frames, their last morning together when they had shared a goodbye kiss.

* * *

AN: Ok so I admit I cheated, I went back over this with a friend a little while ago and did some editing to make it flow better and also fix some grammar mistakes. If you've read this before and think it's better this way lemme know k? :)

AN: I hope you liked it, this is my first fanfiction. Hopefully more to come, if you liked please for the love of God leave a review, even just a one-word review would make me feel so wonderful.


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